“I lied,” I breathed, pulling back to look at him. “I do that sometimes.”
“What about your stablehand?”
My brows knitted, and then recognition hit me: he must have seen me with William. It wasn’t like Will did anything worse than kiss me on the cheek, but I guessed . . . jealous streak. The idea gave me a rush because that meant his emotionless expression yesterday was only a façade.
“What about him? No, I’ve never called him ‘milord.’”
“Of course you haven’t. He’s a stablehand.”
I frowned. “If I wanted to call him ‘milord’ I could have.”
“But you didn’t. You said it to me.”
My eyes narrowed at his cocky tone. “Well, I’m thinking about taking it back.” I pulled my arms away from him.
He wiped his thumb across his bottom lip. “Everyone on the docks heard it. It’s permanent now.”
I let out a noise of frustration. “Just forget it.”
I turned to go, but then he gripped my wrist, spinning me around. His hand was at my nape, and his mouth covered mine. Warmth pooled in my stomach as he kissed me, his lips parting mine. I heard some obnoxious whistles from the sailors, but I didn’t care, because relief filled my chest, light and airy, t
hat I didn’t get rejected like I’d imagined.
I heard him make a little growl of frustration and then felt a sharp nip to my bottom lip. What the—
“Why did you do this?” he said against my lips.
I swallowed, but it was a rhetorical question because he grabbed my arm and pulled me down the docks. I was still burning from the kiss, but a mixture of nerves and anticipation began to roll through me.
“What’s with this?” he asked, pulling on a lock of my hair as we walked down an alleyway in the palace’s direction.
I looked at the ashy tips, before sighing, “I’d rather not discuss it.”
I was pretty sure I knew where we were going and what we would do. Though I’d never quite been in this position—walking next to a man with the intentions of getting into his bed with him. I wasn’t sure how to act, and, he noticed of course.
He glanced down at me, a little smile pulling on his lips. “Scared?”
“No.”
“You smell afraid.”
“Ugh,” I responded, “that’s cree—” I was cut off by him lifting me onto a stack of crates in the alley. Before I could respond, he leaned into me, saying against my throat, “Why are you afraid?”
I sucked in a breath as a warm shiver ran through me. “I’m not,” I said. “Maybe nervous but not afraid.”
“Aren’t they one and the same?” he said, but I barely heard him as his hands came to my thighs, pushing my dress up, and up.
My breath caught when his palms brushed my bare legs. I glanced down the dark alleyway, not seeing anyone, but I could hear laughter from one of the taverns nearby. We were going to do this here?
I choked out a breath when, without another word, he slipped a finger deep inside of me. A moan escaped my lips, my eyes closing at the hot pressure building.
We were doing this here.
A dizzy haze rushed through my bloodstream. This was so wrong. I could feel the Symbian air on my bare thighs, and the warmth of his lips on my neck as his finger moved tantalizingly slow inside me. The combination overwhelmed me, every inch of my skin burning hot.
His voice was dark. “Has anyone else done this to you?”
I blinked the haze away, and then slowly shook my head. I moaned when another finger slipped inside me.